


Runners

by shirleytemplar



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Alternate Universe, Canon-Typical Violence, Clay Kaczmarek - Freeform, Drug Use, F/M, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Lucy Stillman - Freeform, Runners, Subject 16 - Freeform, shirleytemplar
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-11-03
Updated: 2013-05-12
Packaged: 2017-11-17 17:04:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/553876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shirleytemplar/pseuds/shirleytemplar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clay thinks he’s escaped the War by faking his death, but when Lucy shows up at his door and tells him to run, he has no choice but to follow. But can he even trust her after what happened?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Good Morning

**Author's Note:**

> Characters and pairings will be updated as the fic continues. Ratings are presently based on language and mild violence.  
> Please stay tuned for the next chapters! Oh, and if I have missed anything in my proof reading, please let me know.

Clay Kaczmarek was hung over.

This was not a new thing, or a rare thing, or an exceptionally unique thing. He was hung over. It happened.

Today, however, the pounding in his head was so severe it had overtaken most of his senses, draining away the churning in his stomach and the dryness in his mouth. The previous night was a blur – which, again, was no unusual thing. An empty vodka bottle, maybe even an empty pill bottle, a few hallucinations and he had blacked out, passed out and woken up the next morning sprawled on the floor of his bedroom. Wait… Shit… Was it even morning?

Clay had crawled to the bathroom and purged. He was still perched against the toilet, one hand on the flusher and the other gripping the bowl for dear life. His forehead rested against the cold porcelain. He was exposed but for his boxers and a towel he’d wrapped over his shoulders.

He pulled himself up again, getting ready to vomit once again when the sound of a door opening caused him to freeze. Ice gripped his throat and every muscle went tight against his bones. He could taste the copper adrenaline on his tongue and feel his hackles rise.

Someone was in his home.

Clay got to his feet, steadying himself against the toilet and then the sink. He carefully opened the medicine cabinet (ironically the one place in his apartment without any pills – probably because they were everywhere else) and grabbed his razor. The blade was dull and he hadn’t used it in a week or two but it was all he had.

He slipped against the wall by the door and strained to listen over the pounding of his head. There were footsteps in the hallway, soft, as if they were trying to be quiet.

_Deep breath, Kaczmarek._ He exhaled, preparing himself. _Quick. Like a Band-Aid. Now._

In one quick, precise movement, he pulled the door open, shot out into the hall and grabbed the intruder’s arm. Clay threw them back and they scuffled. He regained the upper hand, pinned the intruder to the wall and slipped the razor under their chin. It wasn’t until they’d both stopped that he realized who he was staring at.

“L--… _Lucy?_ ” Her name tumbled out of his mouth.

Her eyes were wide and her hands were up, gesturing her surrender. She was breathing heavily and her cheeks were flushed. In the grapple, her jacket had been pulled off one of her arms and her blonde hair was disheveled, falling around her face.

“I’m not here to hurt you.” She spoke softly, slowly. “I’m here to help you, but if you don’t let me go, I’m going to break your arm and drag you along behind me, okay?”

Clay blinked, but did not move.

“Clay.”

A suffocating silence fell between them as he considered. A broken arm would be a little rough to deal with, considering—

“Wait… _Behind_ you?”

“ _Clay_ ,” Lucy’s eyes darted towards to his hand.

“No, no no, wait. What do you m—“

Lucy had had enough. One hand grabbed his wrist and pushed it downwards wlike the other spun him around. She shoved him face first into the wall beside where she had been with his arm twisted up behind him.

“Ow,” he said.

Lucy turned his hand in hers, causing him to repeat his last statement a few more times.

“A razor?” She was unimpressed and pulled it from his hand.

“Not a lot of options here, doll.”

“But really, of all the things—“

Clay pushed off the wall and spun Lucy around to his front, thus freeing his arm. He tried to grab her but she ducked, released his wrist and jumped away.

“I’ll break your nose if you try that shit again,” her voice was still as steady as always. Perhaps even steadier when on the brink of violence.

“Fucking try,” Clay charged and, true to her word, Lucy thrust the heel of her hand out, up and broke Clay’s nose.

He went down hard, grabbing his face and cursing colorfully. Lucy stood up straighter and fixed her jacket.

“I told you.”

“Fuck!” Blood gushed between his fingers and down his chin. “God damn it, Lucy!”

“Alright, alright, you’ve gotten your anger out. Get up. Pack your things. We’re leaving.” Lucy spun on her heel and charged for the kitchen.

“What the fuck?” Clay stumbled to his feet, keeping a hand over his nose and mouth before scampering after her. He found her at the counter, ripping open cabinets and muttering to herself. “Lucy!”

She glanced back, but kept moving.

“Lucy, what the fuck is going on?”

“Clay, there isn’t time.” She rounded on him, paused and then looked around. Her eyes rested on less-than-clean dish towel. She grabbed it and stepped towards him. “Tilt your head forward.”

She reached out for his hand and he swatted it away. “Don’t touch me.”

Lucy’s face tightened into a glare. She shoved the towel into his free hand. “Tilt. Your head. Down.” She made an exasperated sound and stomped back to the cabinets before adding, “Do you even have food here?”

Clay said nothing, but lifted the towel to his nose. He watched her closesly and at length said, “Lucy, please. What the hell are you doing here?” and she stopped, and turned and looked at him.

“Clay,” there was a strain in her voice that made his stomach flip. Lucy. It was Lucy. Here. With him. “There isn’t time to explain. I’m sorry. I know we didn’t really… End on good terms, but you have to trust me. We’ve got about five minutes before they kick down your door and drag you back into this goddamn war.”

Clay shook his head and dropped his hand. “They? Who is They?”

Lucy’s face fell and she stepped towards him.

“Lucy?” An old and familiar fear gripped his heart as he looked into her face. “Lucy, who… Who’s coming here?”

She shook her head. “Everyone. The Templars. The Assassins. Everyone. We have to get out.”

Before Clay even had a chance to wrap his brain around the idea, the sound of several cars pulling up outside cut him off cold.

“Go get dressed, get a jacket, get a knife, get whatever you have in a bag. _Hurry_.”

Clay staggered backwards but obliged. He turned and ran to his bedroom, grabbing whatever clothes were nearest to the door and fumbling into them. He found an old messenger bag beneath a pile of discarded drawings and notes and began to shovel whatever seemed important into it: a spare set of clothes, a notebook, the money he’d lifted on the train last week. He was sweeping his hands through the paper, looking for a pill bottle or pills, or anything for his bulging migraine when the front door to the apartment shot open with a bang.

Clay fell perfectly still, his mind overwhelmed with images: memories of his kidnapping, his nights in Abstergo, of ancestors running for their lives, only to be cut down in blood secrets. He couldn’t do that again. He could not go through it all again. His hands balled into fists and his breathing grew labored. Everything was crashing down.

_CRACK._

Clay jumped, scrambling to the door.

_That was a gunshot._ His heart leapt into his throat. _Lucy!_ Clay dashed out into the hall, his bag swinging on his shoulder. Silence fell over the apartment as he crept down the hall, bracing himself to see Lucy dead on his carpet.

He took a deep breath, steeling himself for the worst when Lucy suddenly appeared in front of him, a light splatter of blood on her face and shirt.

“Jesus Christ!”

“Clay, GO!” She thrust him backwards.

“Lucy, what—“ He looked back in time to see her clicking the safety on the pistol back and stow it in the back of her belt. “Did you just…?”

Lucy looked up at him but said nothing. He stared at her, an overwhelming sense terror wrapping around him. What was he getting into?

“Is there a fire escape we can use?” Lucy said suddenly, pulling Clay back to the situation at hand. 

“Uh, yeah.” Clay adjusted the bag on his shoulder to make it more secure before leading Lucy through the kitchen to a window. “Lucy, what—“

“Clay, I promise, once we’re a hundred miles away from here and not being followed, I’ll explain, but for right now, we have to go before the others get up here.”

“Others?”

Lucy didn’t answer. She was out the window and almost to the ladder when he could hear voices – _real_ voices – in the apartment. He clambered out after her and it wasn’t long before they were on the concrete of a back alley, jogging towards the main road.

“I don’t suppose you have a car?” Lucy asked, looking everywhere but at him.

“Uh, no. Do you?”

“Are you kidding?” She glanced back at him with a small smile. “I got here in a cab.”

Clay jogged the few steps to catch up to her and frowned. “Where’s your stuff?”

Without missing a step, Lucy stooped and pulled a backpack out form behind a dumpster and slung it over her shoulder.

“Why’d you leave it out here?”

“Ask me a few more questions, Mr. Kaczmarek. I’m certain that’ll speed things up.”

Clay’s eyes narrowed and his hand tightened on the strap of his bag. After their first few weeks in Abstergo, she’d stopped calling him that, and since then she only used it when she was angry. Very angry.

He fell silent and followed her closely until they came to the end of the alley. Lucy held out her arm to stop him.

“We need a car.” She said, more to herself than to him.

“Okay,” Clay moved to the other wall of the alley, wiping his nose on his arm. “How do we do that?”

Lucy glanced at him but said nothing. She hitched her backpack higher, straightened her jacket an started out into the street as if nothing had happened. When he didn’t follow her, she stopped and gestured for him to. He obliged, trailing behind her like a child.

Lucy walked along the cars parked on the street, hand running over the handles. Were he not watching her, he wouldn’t have noticed. She was trying the doors, trying to find one that was unlocked.

“I thought people only did that in movies,” Clay mumbled.

“Fuck, keep close.” Lucy took off at a march, casting the occasional wary glance over her shoulder. Her eyes fell on Clay and she frowned. “Come here,” She reached out and looped her arm through his, “Act casual.”

Casual? Casual flew out the window a long time ago.

But he tried to act casual either way, walking alongside Lucy as if nothing out of the ordinary was happening. He was about to ask her why they were walking like this when three police cars shot past them, lights and sirens blaring.

Oh. That’s why.

Once the cars had passed, Clay expected Lucy to let go, but she didn’t. He became suddenly very aware of her proximity to him: her hand on the crook of his arm and her hip grazing his every other step. The warmth from her body against the cold air around them… He could smell her shampoo, or perfume or her, and images of stolen glances, sly grins and comfort in a sterile lab returned to him. He didn’t dare to look at her. After everything that had happened, everything that was happening… Could he really trust her? After she had betrayed him and left him for dead. After everything… But did he even have a choice?

Fuck.

They walked another two blocks before she finally let go, and returned to running her hands over the door handles.

At last, Clay cleared his throat. “Where um… Where are we going?”

“For now? Away.” Lucy paused and pulled a door handle. Pop. It opened. She smiled back at him and the corners of his mouth twitched. “Get in.”

It was an old land rover. The upholstery on the seats was ripping and Clay guessed that the heater didn’t work. He set his bag at his feet and watched Lucy as she walked around to the other side, opened the door and slipped into the driver’s seat.

Carefully, she dropped her bag into the backseat before running her hands over every surface of the vehicle. She checked the cup holders, the visor, the door’s storage.

“Guess I have to jump it.” Lucy dug into the pocket of her jacket. She had just produced a pocket knife when Clay held up a lone key to her.

“It was in the glove compartment. Valet key, probably.”

He dropped it into her hand and she smiled at him. “Thanks.”

She turned the engine, the car gurgled and revved and the radio began to blare.

Clay cursed and reached for the radio nob, not realizing Lucy had done the same. Their fingers slipped against each other and Clay swallowed hard. Lucy pulled her hand back quickly. She was so cold, and it reminded him of when her hands were warm, fingers slipped into his when he awoke in the Animus.

He shook his head to rid himself of the memories. That was a long time ago.

“Fuck,” he grumbled, quickly turning the radio off. “Music these days is awful.”

“Oh?” Lucy put the car into gear and glanced over her shoulder. “What music do you prefer?”

“Opera,” he said, and looked away as Lucy pulled out into the street.

* * *

They made it outside of downtown without incident, and without saying a word. Lucy would pretend to check the make up she wasn’t wearing when cop cars passed and Clay simply stared at the buildings passing by. He was almost thankful for this migraine – it kept the demons at bay, the hallucinations and the voices. Despite the pounding in his skull, he could see straight.

“We need to get food,” Lucy’s voice startled him. The only sound between them had been the winter winds and the choking engine. “Do you know this part of town?”

“Mm,” Clay’s shrug was purposefully exaggerated. “Can’t say I do. Everything starts to look like Rome after a while.”

Lucy glanced at him and out of the corner of his eye he could read the pain on her face. He was lying, he knew where one was, but… Well, now he couldn’t even come up with an excuse for what he said.

“Two blocks up, one block left.” He was quiet, and he thought he heard Lucy sniff but did not look at her.

“We can’t stay in there for long,” Lucy explained, flipping on the turn signal. “We just need basic rations—food, water… A blanket or two as well. I don’t know if we’re gonna have to camp out in this car.”

Clay eyed her and frowned. “Camp out?”

“We’ve got a long road ahead of us.”

“Can you explain it now?”

“Are we one hundred miles out?”

“Alright, I get it.”

Lucy turned the car into the packing lot of a small local grocery chain. She parked, turned the car off and stowed the key in her pocket. She grabbed her bag, popped open the car door and looked at Clay.

“You coming?”

He cast a wary glance at the store, and then at Lucy before shaking his head.

“No, no I’m gonna stay here. Headache.”

“I’ll pick you up some Advil.”

She smiled, but it was small, the smile someone who is hurt uses to try and make you feel better, and closed the car door.

_Advil. Right._

He watched her walk away, steady as ever. As she moved, she worked at fixing her hair, tucking the stray hairs back behind her ears and into her bun. If he didn’t know better, he would simply think she’d stopped for some regular shopping.

Clay let out a heavy sigh once she was inside and began to fidget with the cuffs of his jacket. He probably should have grabbed clothes that were a little less wrinkled… Shit, did they smell? He sniffed his shoulder warily and decided that no, they did not.

But fuck, he should have brushed his teeth. Maybe Lucy would get him a tooth brush? He grabbed the window’s crank (a crank, he mused, how old was this car?), lowered it and spat into the pavement. 

As he moved back into the vehicle, he saw a horrified old woman about fifteen feet way staring at him.

“Morning,” he attempted a smile and closed the window. It was then that he realized he still had a bit of blood on his face from Lucy’s hit. “Oh, Jesus,” he hissed.

Clay wasn’t the type to be very conscious of his appearance, but this was… Well, it was something.

He pulled his jacket sleeve down over his hand and began mopping the dried blood from under his nose carefully, trying not to flinch; he’d felt broken ribs and spines when he was in Abstergo, this pain was nothing new.

Sighing heavily, Clay flipped the visor back up, slumped down in his seat and closed his eyes.

_He was walking somewhere he didn’t know, stumbling over debris. A fire white fog swirled around his body and obscured his vision. Where was he?_

_He walked for some time before – out of the corner of his eye – he saw movement and froze. Whatever it was was no longer there, having vanished back into the fog. And so he followed it, holding his arms out in front of himself in the event of a stumble._

_Clay let his eyes become unfocused. His gaze rolled over the swirling fog, watching for—there it was. Not far ahead of him was a figure, moving quickly back into the haze._

_“Wait!” He called, picking up into a jog. “Wait! Who are you?”_

_It was definitely a person. Clay saw a face turn towards him before the other spun around and began to sprint in the other direction._

_“Come back! I don’t want to hurt you!” Clay tried to catch up, running as fast as he could but somehow the other person simply seemed markedly faster, each step taking them leaps and bounds away from him until…_

Clay opened his eyes. The car was moving again, rocking gently back and forth. He’d fallen asleep against the window, a thin layer of ice clinging to the outside and cooling his cheek. 

Shuffling in his seat, he turned to look around. Lucy was next to him in the driver’s seat, both hands planted on the wheel and eyes front. He stared at her, barely able to remember what she was doing there, or why. 

When he looked up at her, she barely cast him a glance. 

“You’re awake,” she said plainly.

Clay considered for a moment before choosing the simplest question running through his mind. “Where are we?” He cracked his neck and pushed back up into a seated position.

“A few hours outside of town,” She explained. “I figured I’d let you sleep.”

“Oh.” Clay ran his hand over his face. His cheek was cold from the glass and there was sleep around his eyes. “No trouble at the store then?”

“No. Everything’s in the back.”

“You didn’t get me a tooth brush, did you?” He was not hopeful.

“I got everything I could think of. There’s a couple back there.”

“Alright—“ Clay’s stomach suddenly grumbled, protesting the lack of sustenance of late.

“Hungry?” Lucy asked, somewhat playfully.

“How did you know?” He answered without mirth.

“There should be a diner sometime soon. We can stop and grab something quick.”

“And can you explain to me what’s going on?”

Lucy glanced over at him. “Sure.”


	2. The Diner

The diner was small but welcoming and almost completely devoid of other people. Clay and Lucy took a corner booth away from the door and browsed their menus in silence. A waitress of at least fifty who enjoyed her job way too much took their orders (“A cup of coffee, please. And the soup of the day.” For Lucy and “Whatever has the most food.” “And a glass of water for him too.” For Clay). The waitress returned a few minutes later with a tray on her hand.

They ate quietly at first. Lucy took her time, sipping her coffee and looking out the window while Clay devoured nearly half of his burger in three bites.

After a while, Lucy took a deep breath. “It’s complicated, you know,” she said, dragging her spoon across the surface of her soup. “Really complicated.”

Clay decided not to point out that everything was complicated – particularly the things they hadn’t addressed yet, such as their entire situation, her having found him, the state in which they left his apartment, and so on.

“Can I ask you a question?” She said suddenly, sitting up a little straighter.

Despite having a mouth full of burger and fries, Clay agreed. “Yeah, I guess,” and he swallowed hard.

“Um… How… How did you--?”

“ _Not_ that one,” he hissed and took another bite of his food.

“Oh,” Lucy shrank back in her seat. “Sorry.”

Clay chewed and swallowed before clearing his throat. “You were going to tell me what’s going on,” he said plainly.

“Right,” Lucy paused to gather her thoughts, set her spoon down and folded her hands in her lap. “God, where do I start? I guess… I guess I should start at Abstergo.”

Clay said nothing.

“Alright listen,” Lucy took another breath, trying to find the words. “Before I explain everything, you have to understand that I never meant to hurt you.”

“Oh, Christ, Stillman.” Clay snorted. “This is priceless. You never meant to hurt me? What did you mean then, hmm?”

“You got caught in the middle of a very large project.”

“No, shit, really? Jesus, I hadn’t even noticed the fucking lab.” Clay could feel his hackles rising. How dare she. How _dare_ she.

“It was a work in progress,” Lucy tried, but he laughed, coarsely and loudly.

“A work in progress? _My life_ was a work in progress. Fuck’s sake, Lucy, I underestimated you.” His voice was rising. Lucy was trying to keep herself calm. The waitresses were beginning to look at them, and they couldn’t have anyone overhear.

“What do you mean?”

“You wouldn’t look at me for a week after that god damned letter—“

“You screamed at me the next day!” Her hands tightened in her lap. “I tried to be honest with you.”

“Honest?!” Clay was on his feet now, hands flat on the table as he leaned forward so his face was inches from Lucy’s. “ _Honest_ would have been not leading me on.”

“Leading you on?!” Lucy’s mouth fell open in anger and shock.

“Don’t act innocent, Lucy,” he barked. The other people in the diner were officially staring at them but Clay didn’t care. He had things to say, and now was the time to say them. “You played me. You played _everyone._ Bill trusted you—“

“Bill Miles is righteous old hog!”

“ _I trusted you_ ,” he snarled over her, moving in closer. “And then you fucking turn it around and…  Christ, why am I even here with you?! For all I know, you’re leading my right back to Abstergo’s fucking rat lab!”

“I would never,” Lucy’s voice broke and Clay jumped at the chance.

“Never what? Betray me? Leave me for dead? _Take me back?_ ” Clay slammed his fists down, causing the old plates and mugs to rattle. Coffee and soup sloshed onto the table and French fries scattered. His head was pounding. “Don’t _fuck_ with me, Stillman. You’re no better than any other _Templar piece of shit_. You used me to your advantage and never looked back.” And he spat on the table just in front of her. “You’re a traitor and a coward.”

Lucy said nothing, but stared up into his face. Her cheeks were read and her eyes were swollen and her lips were tight, and trembling.

Clay’s gut suddenly churned as he looked down at her. He had gone too far. There was an anger in her eyes that he had never seen before, that he had never even _imagined_ before, but he did not apologize. He did not sit down. He stood his ground and glared at the one person who had treated him with kindness when he was in Abstergo.

And he hated himself for it.

“You want out?” Lucy’s voice was soft and quiet and broken. “Go.” She was staring him down, unblinking despite the tears along her lashes. “Consider this the last time I try to be honest with you.”

And with that, she stood, grabbing her bag and her jacket. She threw whatever money she had in her pocket on the table and left the diner through the front door.

Lucy’s eyes blurred as she reached the land rover. She wrenched the door open, threw her things into the back and climbed into the driver’s seat. The key slipped against the ignition and she cursed. The engine turned over, she threw it in drive and made it twenty feet before slamming on the brake again. Her knuckles tightened white against the steering wheel and her head began to spin. She could feel the tears rolling on her cheeks but did not move to swipe them away. She did not move at all. She sat there, in a stolen old land rover in the middle of nowhere, and cried.

Every time. _Every time_ she tried to do something right, it blew up in her face. Why bother? Why even try? It would have been so much simpler to just… Well, nothing was simple any more.

Lucy brought her hands together on the steering wheel and leaned her forehead against them.

 _Calm down, Stillman. Deep breath. This isn’t the end. You can still get through this, you can still get out, you can still fight._ Lucy bit down hard on her lip, as if squeezing the last of the tears out. _What are you doing here? Go. Get. Him._

Lucy Stillman steeled herself. She took a deep breath and wiped her eyes, thankful she wasn’t wearing any make up that would, inevitably, smear all over and out her as having wept as she had. She retrieved the key from the ignition and slid out of the car onto the gravel parking lot.

A small, determined bounce found her step as she crossed the lot to the diner door, but it did not last long. As Lucy pushed through the old glass door, her heart dropped into her stomach and rolled.

He wasn’t there. _Clay wasn’t there_.

Lucy shot over to the table where they had been seated. The dishes were still there, as was the money she had thrown down before she left, but Clay was not.

She ducked and checked under the table. Aside from a discarded fork and several pieces of chewing gum, a crumbled lump of fabric lay by where Clay’s feet would have been: his jacket. She snatched it and stood, searching the pockets for any clue.

“You looking for your boyfriend, sug?”

Lucy jumped and turned to see the waitress who had served them looking at her with a kind smile.

“What?”

“Your beau, that handsome fella you were fighting with? I hope you two sort it out, he seemed real upset after you left.” The waitress spoke a little too slowly for Lucy’s tastes and she was having trouble not seizing the woman by the shoulders and screaming at her to talk faster.

“Yes? And?”

“He just looked real sad and kept looking out at you in your car…” She paused then, looking Lucy up and down as if trying to decide what to say next. “I do hope you two sort it out, it’s obvious to anyone with eyes that you care an awful lot about each other.”

“I’m sorry, could you speed this up? I need to find him.”

“Well, he had just gotten up – I think he was gonna go get you – but this big, tall fella came marching in here and sat with him for a mo’ before they got up and left together.”

Lucy thought she was going to be ill. In a weak attempt to keep her composure, she swallowed. “The tall man… Did… Did he say his name?”

“Oh, D-somethin-er-other. David, or Damian, or…”

“ _Daniel?_ ”

“Oh, that was it, sug!”

“ _SHIT._ ” Lucy was out the door and sprinting before the waitress had a chance to elaborate. “Clay!” She screamed, her hot breath turning into fog in the cold air.

But she was too late.

She could see Clay in the window of the land rover, eyes wide and pleading. He yelled something and cast a terrified look to his side. When Lucy saw what he was leading her eyes to, a scream ripped free from her throat.

A wolfish grin, the kind only seen in fairytales, shone back at her, glittering and dangerous and deadly. She had seen that smile before, that exact smile, but it never terrified her any less. He was a predator who had just trapped his prey and was reveling in the panic he had caused. A fox in an empty hen house on Christmas morning.

“Cross!” She howled, sprinting full into the side of the car and jerking at the door handle. “You _bastard!_ ”

On the other side of the door, Clay fumbled with the lock, two silver cuffs linking his wrists. He mouthed something to her, struggling against the cuffs. Lucy’s heart pounded in her throat.

“CROSS, _NO!_ ” She beat her fists against the window as the engine gurgled and turned over once again. He’d hotwired it. “You don’t know what you’re doing! _Stop! PLEASE!_ ”

It was too late.

Without taking his eyes off of her, Cross placed a hand on the side of Clay’s head and shoved, bouncing it against the glass window and effectively knocking him unconscious.

“ _NO!_ ”

Cross shifted gears and accelerated hard, sending Lucy flying backwards onto the ground. She yelped as she made contact with the gravel, some of the sharper rocks cutting her hands and face.

But it was much, much too early to quit.

Lucy pushed herself over onto her stomach, hands tightening into fists around the small rocks and she yelled, loud and hard. Despite the cuts, despite the bruises, she had to get him back. She started off after them, pushing up from the ground into a run after the stolen old land rover and gaining speed with every step.

The only thing she could think of was what Clay had mouthed as she ran up to the car.

_I trust you, Lucy._


	3. Clutch

Lucy Stillman was not a quitter. She was many things, and many different things to many different people, but never, under any circumstance, was she a quitter. Breathing was becoming more difficult as her throat grew raw and she swallowed hard, trying to ease the pain but it didn’t help. The cuts on her hands and face stung in the cold air as she ran, clutching Clay’s jacket as if her life depended on it. She had to get him back.  


Just. Keep. Going.  


She did not want to admit that she had no idea where she was or where she was going or where they had gone. The road was empty for miles and likely to remain that way. There were tire tracks she could follow, but the afternoon sun was already beginning to fail her. If she did not reach them in time…  


Lucy shook her head sharply, rejecting the thoughts. She had worked with Cross before. She knew what he was capable of. She had to keep going.  


A low rumbling came up behind Lucy and set her on edge. She gripped Clay’s jacket even tighter and looked back over her shoulder. The cause of the noise was an old silver sedan rolling up towards her. The headlights flashed and Lucy was unsure whether she should stop or duck into the trees and wait for the car to pass. Before she could make up her mind, the sedan stopped beside her and the driver was calling out to her.  


“You need a ride, sug?”  


Lucy fumbled to a stop and stared. “Excuse me?”  


The driver chuckled and set the car in park before getting out and starting around the vehicle to Lucy.  


“You… you’re the waitress from the diner,” Lucy blurted, staring at the woman. “The one who took our orders… The one who—“  


“Name’s Valerie, sug.” She said calmly, propping her hands up on her hips. “Now look, I don’t know what happened, and frankly, I don’t want to, but anyone with eyes can see you’re in trouble.”  


“What?”  


“You seem like a good girl, sug, and good girls in heaps of trouble always need help now and then.” The waitress looped her arm through Lucy’s and pulled her towards the car.  


Lucy stared down at the woman. She was in her mid-fifties, with greying hair stacked on top of her head and smile lines around her eyes. She probably had a family, and a few dogs, and a favorite game show that she watched every night. She worked in a diner in the middle of nowhere. What was she doing here?  


Valerie pulled Lucy around to the driver’s side and sighed. “Now, it’s a manual, but by the looks of that old rover of yours, that shouldn’t be a problem. The clutch is fussy, and so are the brakes until you show ‘em who’s boss.” She released Lucy’s arm and knocked a fist against the car’s hood. “Windows don’t work either, I’m afraid. They’ve been stuck open for nearly a year now but if you get cold, the heater’s the little red knob underneath the radio.”  


Lucy’s brow furrowed. This woman was listing off the car’s attributes like a personalized manual. “What?” she tried again, looking back and forth between the waitress and the vehicle.  


“Now,” Valerie turned back to Lucy. “There’s a shotgun in the trunk in case of trouble, along with a box of shells, but I’d check ‘em fore you use ‘em. Whole damn car leaks like a loose senator with a drink in his hand.” She scratched her head and gave the car another once-over with her eyes before nodding. “That should be it, I think.”  


Lucy's mouth had fallen open. Were it not for the stinging cuts on her face, she would have thought she'd blacked out and that this was some sort of fever dream. "Shotgun?"  


“Oh, and don’t you worry about getting the old hunk of metal back to me. I’ve been tryin’ to convince my husband to get me a new car for years. You’re doing me a favor. Only wish the damn thing was in better condition for you.”  


Valerie turned and looked a Lucy with a smile, the soft, compassionate, knowing smile that mothers are so good at. Lucy looked at her and shook her head. She knew better than to tell this woman no, that wouldn’t work at all, but she did have one question in mind still.  


“Why are you doing this?” She nearly whispered, holding Clay’s jacket up to her chest. The waitress continued to smile and stepped closer to Lucy. She placed her hands on her shoulders and looked Lucy in the eye.  


“There’s a lot of things in this world that ain’t none of my business, and when you get to be my age, sug, you stop asking questions and start rolling up your sleeves…” She lifted a hand and brushed a few stray hairs back behind Lucy’s ead. “Bert’s always tellin’ me to keep my nose to myself, but the way I see it, we’ve all gotta do our part in this big, scary world.”  


“I-I can pay you for the car,” Lucy said suddenly, digging into her pockets for her wallet before remembering that she’d tossed her bag into the land rover when she’d stormed off.  


“Oh, hush. I’ve got a daughter about your age and Lord Above knows she can’t afford shit. Take the damn car and get goin’. You’re losing daylight.”  


“I don’t know what to say… You’re saving a life, here. More than one, actually."  


“Oh hush, sug,” Valerie wrapped her arms around Lucy’s small frame and hugged her tightly that way that moms do, and kissed her on the cheek. “Everything’s gonna be fine.”  


Lucy sniffed and nodded, attempting to smile back. “Thank you.”  


“Thank the Lord on Sunday, sug, you’ve got work to do.”  


The small blaze of hope and determination had begun to swell in Lucy’s stomach as she walked towards the car door, fumbling with Clay’s jacket.  


“Oh, lemme help you with that,” Valerie said, taking the jacket and holding it up. Lucy stared at it for a moment before nodding and stepping into it. The coat completely engulfed her once she had shrugged it up onto her shoulders; the chest was too wide and the sleeves extended past her hands, but a bizarre feeling of familiarity and comfort washed over her as she fastened it closed.  


“What about you?” Lucy asked suddenly, wrapping the jacket tightly around herself.  


“Oh, I can walk back to the diner from here. I’ll be fine.” Valerie waved her hand dismissively. “You better get going.”  


Lucy nodded and she took a deep, steadying breath. She stepped back from the waitress and turned to the car once more. Once she was all the way into the driver’s seat, Valerie pushed the door closed and leaned down into the window.  


“Give ‘em hell, sug.”  


“Yes, ma’am.” A small smile pulled at the corners of Lucy’s mouth as she dropped one hand onto the shifter and the other tight on the wheel. “And thank you. Again.” Valerie shook her head and winked before moving clear back from the door. She propped her hands back on her hips as Lucy threw the car into gear and sped off down the road after the setting sun. 

* * *

He was unsure how long he had been unconscious, but it was dark out when Clay opened his eyes. The rover’s headlights bounced a dull yellow off the road in front of them: unpaved, with planets growing in the spaces between tire tracks. He was leaned against the window and his head was throbbing – more than usual, anyway. When he tried to move, his whole body ached and protested.  


_Fuck. Okay. Remain calm_ , he told himself, trying to think. It wasn’t working. He felt ill. Between the bump on his head and the nausea from the previous day, --  


_Oh, Christ._ The nausea.  


Before he could stop himself, Clay began to heave, scrambling for the window’s crank. His hands were still cuffed together and his fingers felt numb as he worked at getting the window open in time.  


“What, you’re gonna climb out the window of a car going seventy-five?” Cross’s voice was gruff and somewhat amused. Clay did not respond. He stuck his head out into the air and pitched the contents of his stomach onto the passing ground.  


The relief was not instantaneous, but it came. He heaved a few more times, but nothing came, so he spat hard and let his head hang out the window. The cold air felt good on his skin and soothed his burning throat. “Augh, Christ,” he groaned, and spat again.  


“Well,” Cross chuckled, “You’ve had a rough day, huh?”  


“Fuck you,” Clay pulled his head back in and cranked the window up part way so he could lean his head against it once more.  


“Feisty.”  


“I am going to throw up on you and drive this car into a telephone pole if you don’t shut up.”  


Cross pantomimed a gasp of fear and reached a hand over to stroke Clay’s head. “Poor baby boy,” he cooed and Clay swatted it away weakly. Cross laughed and seized a fistful of the other man’s hair and drove his head into the window once again. This time, the glass shattered and Clay let out a yell. Cross cursed and slammed on the brakes, sending his captive into the dashboard.  


“See what you made me do?!” he barked. Clay clutched his face, his nose bleeding heavily again, on top of the cuts from the window. “Jesus Christ.” Cross accelerated again, shoving Clay back into his seat.  


“Fuck. You.” Clay’s entire body was shaking now. He braced one hand against the dash and took slow, deep breaths to keep from blacking out again.  


“Yeah, you said that one already.” Cross giggled, shifting in his seat. “Don’t worry, though. We’ll be there soon.”  


“There?” Clay knocked the remaining glass out and spat out the window once again before turning to look at his abductor. His grin was back, the sly, wolfish one that made Clay uneasy.  


“Take a good look at the stars, Subject 16,” Cross said plainly, leaning forward and looking up through the windshield. “This is the last time you’re going to see them.”  


Clay felt his stomach drop and twist into a not. “I could see the sky from the lab,” his voice was weak, and he was having trouble keeping his eyes open.  


“Who said anything about the lab?” Cross giggled. “And don’t think those little clues you’re leaving will do you any good,” he added as Clay spat once again. “Lucy won’t be able to find us.”  


“Maybe,” Clay nodded. They were miles, maybe states, away from her at this point, on some little back road in the middle of nowhere. It would be a miracle if Lucy found them, and completely impossible for her to find them in time. As darkness began to cloud his mind once again, Clay contemplated what was to come and what had earlier transpired. 

If someone asked him to make a list of words that described Lucy, he thought as his consciousness began to slip away, he could say with certainty that “quitter” would not be on it.


End file.
